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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26360008">GALE GREEN IS DOING A GREAT JOB</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/windingwoods/pseuds/windingwoods'>windingwoods</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Friends at the Table (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Temporary Character Death, blaseball AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:55:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,010</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26360008</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/windingwoods/pseuds/windingwoods</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In front of her stands a skyline she’s sure she should recognize. </p><p>Looking at it directly makes her feel as if her head is splitting in two, so █████ shifts her focus upwards, where the silhouette of what appears to be a gigantic microphone gazes back at her. </p><p>“That wasn’t there ████,” she would say, if she had any memories of ████. She doesn’t, so she hugs her arms to her chest instead, trying to ward off the chill.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Goldfinch/Waxwing (Friends at the Table)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>GALE GREEN IS DOING A GREAT JOB</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>my offering for the fatt sapphic week 2020! there's some of the prompts scattered around if you squint, but i'm posting it on sp(l)ort day to mantain a semblance of dignity anyway. </p><p>this is basically what happens when i get into a postmodern cultural event (blaseball) and read a deeply postmodern web novel (omniscient reader's viewpoint) at the same time. also i won't stop coming up with possible reunion scenarios for waxwing and goldfinch until austin underscore walker gives me the real deal.</p><p>recommended listen: "innuendo" by queen, 'cause it makes me think of the bluff city lesbians.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The flashes of the reporters’ cameras still seem to flicker in front of her, like a glitched out starry sky. Waxwing had hoped that fleeing that stuffy conference room would give her some semblance of clarity, but the ringing in her ears doesn’t seem to be stopping. Maybe, she muses, it’s because of that gigantic microphone towering above the clouds. </p><p>She chances to look up at it, like she’s been doing for the past ██████ or so, and the ringing grows louder for a moment. </p><p>“Can you hear it?” she asks. A ████ wearing a white suit steps out of his hiding spot in the shadows of the parking lot. </p><p>“Perceptive as always,” Mr. Lee L. Bee says, clapping his hands slowly enough that they don’t make any sound. “And ███, I ████ hear it.”</p><p>Waxwing regards him with a vexed stare, but she’s not quite so foolish that she’d brush past her least-hated information broker without hearing what he has to say first. “I’ve got, like, five minutes,” she states.</p><p>“That’s more than enough for what I have to say,” Mr. Lee L. Bee replies easily, unflapped. When he smiles, Waxwing catches a reddish glint underneath the thick lenses of his sunglasses. </p><p>“You might wanna take a detour to the Saltwater Pier before going back home tonight,” he says, then he taps his wristwatch. “There, seven seconds flat.”</p><p>“That means I’ve still got four minutes and fifty-three seconds to grill you to a crisp,” Waxwing retorts; something about the way Mr. Lee L. Bee’s voice curled around the words “Saltwater Pier” stokes the bitterness that’s constantly simmering in the back of her head, but she knows what she’s making is nothing but an empty threat. </p><p>As if pitying her, Mr. Lee L. Bee shakes his head. “The Lions did well tonight, it’s a shame about Blake,” is all he says, then he starts walking towards his Packard without sparing her a second glance. </p><p>Waxwing looks down at her uniform, still stained with ashes, and she tastes bile on her tongue. The reporters might find her if she lingers for too long, though, so she heads towards her own car as well. She should… do something. She should turn her head, turn her head to the right, because if she did she would notice—</p><p> </p><p>FEEDBACK DETECTED. THE POINT OF VIEW WILL NOW SWITCH TO █████ ████████.</p><p> </p><p>Her throat hurts. Her lungs burn and her skin is covered in scratches. She knows she should be able to do something about it, to ████ ████ ████ ████████, but all she can do is cough out more salt water onto the beach. There’s a strange ringing in her ears, but █████ chalks it up to having just washed ashore from somewhere, apparently. </p><p>She tries to get up; her drenched clothes cling to her like a film of brine, cold and uncomfortable, while the wet sand caves in under the weight of her feet. In front of her stands a skyline she’s sure she should recognize. </p><p>Looking at it directly makes her feel as if her head is splitting in two, so █████ shifts her focus upwards, where the silhouette of what appears to be a gigantic microphone gazes back at her. </p><p>“That wasn’t there ████,” she would say, if she had any memories of ████. She doesn’t, so she hugs her arms to her chest instead, trying to ward off the chill. </p><p>Someone’s making their way towards her, she realizes. It’s a woman, wearing a blaseball uniform that reads ███ ████ Lions, and when their eyes meet █████’s heart starts thrashing as if it wants to tear her apart from the inside out. </p><p>The woman, who had been walking with the sort of stance a fighter takes as they circle their opponent, takes off running. Her body crashes into █████ like a freight train, knocking them both down on the sand. </p><p>She probably should be scared, but all she can do is hold on to the woman, as if the sea is going to sweep her away again if she lets go. Then, there’s a single, breathless word whispered into her ear. </p><p>“Dorothy.”</p><p>The microphone screams, and she realizes the ringing in her ears was an echo, a collection of all the things she had forgotten about. With a rush of blinding light she realizes she’s in Bluff City, holding Waxwing in her arms. She realizes she’s Dorothy de Lanza, she’s Gale Green, she’s <em> Goldfinch</em>.</p><p>“I…” She tries to say something, anything, but that’s when a blaseball bat smacks into Waxwing’s skull with a sickening crack. </p><p>Above them stands a person, wearing a bloodied grey uniform. The small, cruel eyes of a horseshoe crab stare down at her as Waxwing’s body goes limp.</p><p>No. That just cannot be. Not like this—</p><p> </p><p>REVERB DETECTED. GOLDFINCH IS REVERBERATING WILDLY!</p><p> </p><p>A strangled scream dies in her throat as the scene in front of her reverts back to a few moments earlier. Waxwing is kneeling on top of her with a confused expression, at odds with the tears clinging to her cheeks, but Goldfinch doesn’t have the time to explain. </p><p>“Behind you!” she yells, hoping against hope that Waxwing still trusts her after everything that’s happened. </p><p>All the time they’ve spent apart seems to vanish for a second, as the love of her life whips a dagger out of thin air and twists backwards without hesitation. She moves as fast as Goldfinch remembers, dodging a swing of the blaseball bat that would have killed her and sinking her dagger into the throat of the horseshoe crab person, all the way to the hilt. The arc of her arm looks cinematic, graceful and violent like the tides roaring behind them. </p><p>When she turns to look at Goldfinch once again her face is sprayed with blood, but Goldfinch simply scrubs at it with the hem of her still-wet cardigan. Waxwing doesn’t protest, instead sagging against her with a sigh, and Goldfinch knows she can’t undo the hurt she caused with a simple swipe of her hand. </p><p>Still, with her nose buried in the crown of Waxwing’s head, it feels a little bit like finally coming home. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>P.S. the rival teams are called Bluff City Lions and Unlimited Horseshoe Crabs</p></blockquote></div></div>
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